Kind & Generous (by Natalie Merchant) and So Real (by Jeff Buckley)

I had intended this piece to be about the culinary delights of Colombia, but I fear that I still do not have enough facts to compose something really revealing and elsewhere enough has happened to warrant an update of sorts. So, I’ve decided to shoot off another post before most of it slips away and is absorbed by my rapidly forming new life in Medellin.

Hilton surveys the landscape...with tea!

Life has moved quite quickly in the last couple of weeks. I’ve been backwards and forwards between Bogota and Medellin a couple of times, spent loads of time on the phone, or having people phone for me, about accommodation, Visa’s, studies and a host of other things that need to get organised ASAP, spent large amounts of time on buses and in taxi’s, packed and lugged my bags around some more and I’ve continued the sometimes bruising and always frenetic process of meeting new people, making connections and getting by.

Some of the friendly locals here in Medellin

One certainly has moments in between all of this, where you start to see the stark contrast between what used to stress you out and the generally relaxed air that you have now adopted in the face of much turmoil and change. One really has little choice in the matter because massive chunks of your life now relies on adapting to situations as opposed to controlling your environment and carefully planning the boundaries of your existence. I often wonder if a more conformist life would see me loose the ability to adapt in this way because I reckon its quite a nice thing to have and, if nothing else, might save you some dough on the tranquilizers and heart medication later on in life. Quieter moments have been less frequent, but enough to still allow me the space to pose some more questions without real answers.

Adaptation is required to eat coagulated blood sausage and bits of intestine...savvy?

....Entonces...aver...where did I last leave you guys? I think it was just before I left for Medellin the first time. Well the bus trip was long and the countryside beautiful in way that had me putting away the camera after the first hour or so because it really would only do the situation justice if one of you could have been sitting next to me and we could’ve giggled together at our wonderful luck for having stumbled across something that so few others from outside this country have had the privilege to see.

A glimpse of the road to Medellin

By the time I arrived here in Medellin, I was sufficiently dreamy (think of the effect of an opiate, for instance) from all the smiling at myself and that didn’t really let up as the people here just continued the happy high. They are so damn friendly!

It started with a lady who was on the same bus as I and who must’ve seen me looking lost in the bus terminal as she was about to disappear in a cab. She called me over and asked if she could help. I tried to explain where I was going but failed so miserably that it took me calling Sergio’s friend Clara so that she could explain what it was that I should be doing (something that has actually happened on a number of occasions now). all the way there she and the driver tried gamely to pry information out of me in my broken Spanish about where I was from, what I was doing in Medellin, how long I’d been in Colombia and other places that I had seen. Now normally this kind of prying might have you react with some kind of suspicion about the pryer’s motives, but I was instantly so sure of their concern and sincere want to help me, that I stuttered on as best I could. This was confirmed when we stopped at my destination and they then even refused to take money from me for the cab ride and waved me goodbye with a cheery ´Buena Suerte´(good luck).

A view of the city

The indomitable little Clara was waiting for me and we walked through a wonderful little neighbourhood called Carlos E Restripo which is where she lives and where the apartment was that I was going to be crashing in for the next couple of days. This other apartment turned out to be her office by day and had some extra bedrooms, one of which they fixed up nicely for me. I also met Paula who works with Clara and together they ensured that I was comfy and well entertained for the next 3/4 days. I was most impressed at how they patiently listened to all my questions about this new place and always went beyond the polite in trying to explain both what I wanted to know and also what they thought I should take note of. I had flashes of the old team at RMB as they mothered me around the city and seemed to take pleasure in my child like unearthing of local gems and small victories.In the next couple of days, I also got to meet Juan Pablo (Clara´s boyfriend) and Catalina (a mutual friend). Everyone seemed to chip in at some stage to either take me somewhere or to further explain or teach something to me.

Paula and Clara....what lovely ladies!

During my 3 days I went to the EAFIT University where I signed up for my first six courses of Spanish. The spot seemed quite a good starting point and they looked somewhat accustomed to having overseas students. This private university is a quite a good one but has the reputation of being slightly ´Fresas´ or `Yupi´ (local word). This basically means preppy or snobbish.

Practically, it means that all the girls have wonderfully sculpted fake boobs which they use every opportunity to flaunt shamelessly. No problems there although I was often privately amused at my own definition of the ‘chest bum’ which seemed quite apt in most cases. Among the young caballeros it is obvious that the mullet is big business here. The exact look of it makes me want to pronounce the word ‘moo-lay‘. Some of the edgier girls even have this annoying fringe with the wild mud flap at the back. Most thankfully don’t though, but it irks me how the guys get the sides of their heads shaved and then have this long curly monstrosity spouting forth at the back with a fringe and longer hair on top. All of this is carried off with an unmistakable air of coolness and has me in fits of laughter all the time. Seriously, it makes me think of some sort of animal fur as it wiggles about when they attempt to entertain a serious conversation with you.

This man's hair is super cool...in Medellin.

So the university seems quite competent and has a number of extra perks that I now qualify for as a full time student. This includes my being able to participate in a number of sports which even include Frisbee (!?) and handball. The one that obviously caught my eye was the rugby team and I plan to go and check that out at my earliest convenience. I will play if I can be sure that they are not too big and that I will be adopted as the foreign player / coach with hero status among the fans. Yesirree, this could be the start of something special.

Furthermore, I get a Spanish language conversation partner to meet with a couple of times a week. They will be an English student and we will swap between the two languages in various sessions to speed up the learning process. Personally I don’t really need this as I know enough people here already, but my budding friendship with the logistics guys in the head office means that I could be spending my time teaching a lovely young lass (they will allow me to first have a look at the registrations photos of course) the finer side of the English language. The non-american version naturally. Yup, I am certainly trying to ensure that I maintain the necessary sense of balance within these first months of learning the language. no use in going over board just yet and I believe that spending the necessary time on the assimilation process is vitally important for me to gain the skills I need for the coming months. erm…

The one thing the university was not so good at doing was advising me on how to get my temporary student VISA and all the requirements for this process. I ended up going to the DAS offices here (like homeland security) and they look like they are spawned from the same monster that created Home Affairs in SA. Juan Pablo spent an afternoon there with me helping to find out what I should be doing. Thankfully it soon appeared that I was supposed to be reporting to the Ministerial de Relationes Exteriores instead, but they were in Bogota. So, I swiftly started planning my trip back to Bogota, armed with all the documentation I could lay my hands on, in order for me to start classes in Medellin around the 11th of Feb.

On my second night in Medellin, Paula and Clara took me to a Salsa Bar in the downtown area called Eslabön Prendido. A great spot which through some weird turn of events also serves great meals as a kind of side speciality. We had a couple of beers along with the best steak I’ve had since leaving SA. My tummy now full, I shifted my attention to the rest of the establishment and the couple of old-timers gathered at the back bar. They were pounding on the bar in anticipation of what I didn’t know, flirting with the barmaids and threatening to break into a dance at any second. Obviously generous amounts of Aguardiente were also being added to the mix. The dark smoky bar, which was kind of like a long passageway from the street, had such a pleasant vibe that I found myself again smiling at my wonderful luck. A bar at the front and the back with tables in between and against the walls. The music: relaxed and authentic Salsa.

A little later Clara excitedly pointed at a young group gathered at the front bar. They had instruments strapped to their backs and they laughed as the crowd around them seemed to be waiting with baited breath. It turned out that these fellows were actually a well known local band who happened to also be friends of the owner. They had come for dinner but also agreed to play a couple of songs for the excited crowd. We were not disappointed as the crowd swelled rapidly and by the time they started playing the place was packed. The whole atmosphere seemed to perfectly fit that of some famous Latin Salsa bands of yesteryear playing in legendary places that I had previously only dreamt about. People started dancing almost immediately and I was literally staring at this spectacle with my mouth hanging open. One couple moved with such electric pace and energy that I was sure that it was my first encounter with crack cocaine in Colombia. The guy seemed to flip this lady around the floor like a light, but treasured, top that was spinning with almost reckless abandon. I couldn’t believe that they didn’t go crashing into the tables at stages. Their feet a complete blur and the hips gyrated and snapped back and forth in a way that I had never seen except maybe on TV. I was enthralled, if a little intimidated as I wondered what my African moves could conjure up in response. I decided to not test it out that evening as I was wearing my slops and Thai fishing pants. Plenty time left for that later and the disturbing comparisons I had heard before leaving about bad dancing in Colombia being something akin to not possessing the ability to wield the braai tongs in SA, had me carefully studying people’s feet and postponing my unleashing of the ´Johnson Rhythm Hurricane´ for some other night. A great evening though and I often imagined a couple of you being completely dazzled in the same way at seeing something like this.

In the meantime, I started looking at prospective areas of the city in which I could stay. My favourite still has to be Carlos E Restrepo. This charming group of apartments with lush gardens and hundreds of noisy little red and blue birds reminds of some places in the lowveld, but more lush and not so hot., or maybe even parts of KZN around Durban. It is also centred around a two block area that is filled with bars and restaurants. What is most cool though has to be the park and walkway area next to the bars and restaurants where, on every night of the week, old and young sit together and chatter for hours in the balmy evening air. There will usually be someone half-heartedly rapping on a Djembe drum or strumming a guitar and the smell of a brazenly smoked joint is almost always wafting through the air. Apparently this is one place in the city where one can smoke out in the open without incurring the wrath of the law. Well, actually it seems that the law just doesn’t come there? This is certainly unusual here in Colombia. There is also an art gallery with posters of the latest exhibition running along this walkway. People mostly go into a small booze take-away shop where two old ladies serve some of the nicest cold beers around at R5 a pop. Everyone then just sits around outside and tries not to stress out too much. Ya seem to run into the same regulars too and it all just smacks of the good life...at least to me.

That’s not to say that this little scene doesn’t play out in some other areas too and I was fortunate enough to go and hang out in another area of town called El Poblado on my last night before returning to Bogota. This place also centres around a park with bars and fast food joints selling Empanada´s, Perro Calientes (hot dogs) and Arepa Chocolos (local version made out of what seems like sweet corn with slices of a light kind of feta cheese on top) lining the perimeter. Its a charming place too and everyone picks up their beers at one of the bars and then hangs out on the benches and edges of the park gardens. I’ve spent a couple of nights there recently and had an amusing incident take place on one particular night.

Clara, Juan Pablo and I were hanging out after we grabbed dinner nearby and we were waiting for Paula and Catalina to join us a little later. A ragged looking fellow with loads of energy approached us brandishing a piece of paper with numbers from one to ten and some unintelligible things scratched into the spaces next to most of them. I viewed him with typically Saffy suspicion and imagined having to clout him upside the head. After an excited exchange with Clara I was made to understand that he was having a ´beer raffle´. This means that you choose a number and pay 2000 pesos (about R8) after which he has a draw and if you win then you get 5 regular beers or 3 big ones (like a quartz). I was in and after he excitedly shouted ´Bienvenido a Medellin Sudafricano!´ I picked my lucky number 6 and he scribbled some description of me next to it. He disappeared as Clara explained to me that he was a regular and that this was how he made his living and that everyone had a real soft spot for him. I tried to imagine a South African equivalent but could get no further than the weirdness of people hanging out in parks and drinking together, never mind trusting a hyper active small fellow with something as crazy as a beer lottery!

It was soon time for the draw and to much fanfare and excited squealing he was able to get one of the pretty ladies in the park to draw the number out of the empty bottom of two litre coke bottle. I knew in that instant and with absolute certainty that I had just used up my one allotted piece of lifetime lottery luck and I was not mistaken as he excitedly shouted, ´Geeeeltoooon Sudafricano!´ much to the surprise of the park regulars. He stormed over and demanded that we tell him what we would like. We opted for three large beers and a packet of chips which we had him throw in extra. Things quickly returned to normal in the park and status quo was filled i.e. I was fairly Borracho (drunk) by the end of the night! Strangely I have started to drink beer here 1) because its so much nicer than beer at home and 2) its just the perfect thing to enjoy in these social settings. A Jameson’s in the park would look a little weird eh?

Its so nice for me to be in a place where people hang out in public spaces without fear. The worst thing one has to worry about is the odd hawker trying to get you to buy some chiclets from them. Seriously, chiclets seem to be the hawkers choice for ‘lucrative’ wares to sell. The drinking in public is fairly cool too and no-one ever really seems to get rowdy or out of hand. I like people-watching and this means that I can often go and sit somewhere for hours on end, watching people mingle and carry on with the relaxed lives that they seem to live so effortlessly here. I must admit that I seem to get stared at quite a lot too even though I try to ‘blend in’ as much as I can. Much to my own amusement, I get called ´Monito´ (Blondie) quite often. Blonde? This is a first for sure.

So after my first couple of days in Medellin I schlepped back to Bogota to go and sort out my VISA along with a couple of other things. The bus trip is long, so I always and naively imagine sleeping for half of it because I even have one of those handy travel pillows that keeps your head upright and the seats in these buses recline really far. No such luck though, as the speed with which these buses take corners just does not allow for any kind of serious slumber. I’ve tried and inevitably, as I’m about to fall asleep, a really sharp corner makes me jump forward clutching the seat in fright as I am again convinced that we are tumbling off the side of the mountain. It took me a trip to the Ministerio to get the temporary student visa requirements and then I was back there the following Monday. To my surprise they gave it to me right there and then. easy peezy and all I had to do then was change my plane ticket. The Visa is valid till halfway through October so I changed my plane ticket to the start of October but I could change it again as it only costs me $25 a pop.

On my last weekend in Bogota Pollito (Maria Amelia’s boyfriend) bought us all tickets to go and watch the opening game of the new soccer season. The match was ironically between a Bogotano and Medellin team and we trooped into the stadium just as it was getting dark on Saturday night. It was a great show and I could not believe the energy of the crowd as they jumped up and down in unison for the entire match...even when the opposition scored! It was mighty nippy and I was shivering in the stands with a long sleeve shirt and a sweater over that. The Bogota fans were obviously not in the same boat as they madly sang and danced without shirts on and in many cases sporting the local teams emblem boldly tattooed on their backs! The one thing that was seriously lacking had to be the cheerleaders. They were nowhere close to the Blue Bull’s Babes and I even had thoughts of Pretoria exporting this much sought after, but ultimately rare skill to places like this. Ah yes, the Bull’s Babes brought back some fond memories of those perfectly synchronised cowgirl movements that have become so synonymous with Loftus.
Anyway, I digress… The one other amusing thing about the match was how adverts were being screened continuously on the big screen while the match was on. The most famous beer here is called Aguila and there is a yearly contest to see who will be the annual Aguila girls. They then take part in a photo shoot which is something like the Sports Illustrated Swimwear Calendar in SA, except that they are all sporting the same skimpy Aguila bikini´s. Lovely little yellow pieces. I wondered how one was possibly supposed to focus on the match with this ‘behind the scenes’ photo shoot expose being beamed and blared out from the one corner of the stadium. I tried gamely but still missed one of the goals.

The Soccer Stadium in Bogota

Latin football hooligans...deceptively dangerous

This is my game face

So, I’ve said my goodbyes to the big city and now I’m back in Medellin. I’ve got my student card and I am now furiously looking for apartments. The university has not been much of a help as they seem to cater for rich gringo’s who happily pay twice what locals pay for an apartment with all this unnecessary stuff thrown in, like cooked meals and laundry. With the help of mates here I’ve started looking at some locally advertised spots and one or two look promising. Hopefully ill finalise that in the next day or two seeing as my classes start on Tuesday. I also have to get an ID card which is mandatory if you stay in the country for more than 3 months. This will require blood tests and I don’t know what all else. Hopefully I can crack that tomorrow. There is still a lot in the pipeline and I have to resolve where I will be writing my UNISA exams in May seeing as there is no Embassy in Colombia. I am now thinking of Mexico City seeing as Mayra will be there and I can maybe find a comfortable spot nearby for the month or so where I will have to be studying. That’s just speculation right now though. Other than that I am looking forward to knuckling down with the language studies seeing as I am now at a level where my understanding is good but I am still not spending enough time practicing to speak. I’m also keen to see what its like going to university everyday and I will be looking to attend some non-credit courses in the humanities faculty at the varsity once I finish the beginners level of my course.

On the emotional side of things I have missed all of you at different moments in the last couple of weeks. A growing sense of distance has indeed firmly driven the wedge that exists between past and present into my everyday life. I also sometimes miss conversations on the level that I am used to seeing as when one converses in a second language (like the locals speaking English to me and vice versa) the level and depth does tend to drop a little and one more frequently has slightly ‘lighter’ conversations. I have written my thoughts down in the moments where I seem to build up too many that I cannot verbally expel. I received a photo of my old team at RMB this week and that certainly tugged at the heart strings as I recalled the epic last year we had together. I get a similar feeling whenever I get snatches of the lives you are all living now and how it has changed, grown and moved in the last couple of months. I had a great chat with Mayra this last week and one of the things we talked about is the realisation that came to me in the last couple of weeks: That sometimes we travel to move to places where it is more acceptable to feel like a stranger. When you have spent enough time out of the everyday loop, you realise that there will forever be something which alienates you slightly from the places that you find yourself in. Your view is inevitably no longer the same and there is always the knowledge of something which exists beyond that which you live in everyday. That was strangely cathartic for me to think about.

Thanks to everyone who has responded in some way to my last couple of mails. It brings a smile to my face when I get some idea of how my story appears from the other side of the world and, since I’ve posted my stories on Facebook I’ve been blown away by the number of people who, out of the blue, have contacted me to let me know how the pieces have affected them. That is certainly a nice bonus that I get out of something which is more for me to ensure that I don’t forget where I am and what this has moved in me thus far. I often get so absorbed in my furious pursuit of constructive progression towards something generally indefinable, that I forget to sit back and celebrate where I have come from up to now. Its definitely something that my closer mates have berated me for and I hope they can now see that I’m working on it!

So, let me end with another short list of strange things that I have come across in the last two weeks:

• In SA I had become somewhat used to the odd ladies’ undies sticking out from the top of their pants or skirt from time to time. If nothing else it was often a tad amusing especially if it happened to be a very serious kick-ass kind of lady. Well, in Colombia women’s undies NEVER show. This is all the more surprising because of how tight the jean pants are that they wear. But seriously, not once have I even glimpsed the slightest hint of something peaking out. This, from my previous accounts, is quite different when it comes to the blessed Brassiere. This is something for which it seems to be expected to be displayed just as proudly as a nice pair of ear-rings. As I said, no complaints there!


• Antioquian Billiards - This seems to be a traditional game in these parts and is a strange off-shoot of the globally recognised version. there are no pockets on the table whatsoever and the aim of the game, which has only three balls, is to make your ball hit both of the others as well as the side cushions. Successfully achieving that gets you one point and another turn. Seems mighty difficult to me. In the harder version you have to hit the side cushion 3 times before hitting the last ball and some people can do this 20 times in a row! Damn near impossible I reckon, but then again these games seem to go on for hours!


• The other day I got lost in the downtown area and while I was trying to get directions from Clara on the phone I was continuously harassed by the local fruit salesman. This is because, even though they are pushing lowly wooden carts filled with tree tomatoes (lovely things to make juice from), mango’s or watermelons, they still have the means to purchase an extravagant speaker and microphone system with which to blare out the price and quality of their wares. This looked (and sounded) really weird to me as, by implication, when you are merely selling fruit it would appear that electronic equipment of this sort would be slightly out of your reach, right? Well apparently not and I pondered on this while their incessant screeching further plunged me into the darkest corners of the city. A cab rescued me in the end after I stumbled upon a charming live band performance which had the whole street cramming the sidewalk next to the restaurant from which it was emanating.


• Every house here seems to have a blender which people use to make every kind of juice (jugo¨) imaginable for their almuerzo´s (lunch). They all secretly reckon that their technique is best and quite honestly I have never tasted juices this good in my life. Its bloody great having something different with lunch every day. My favourite have to be Guanabana and Tree Tomato (Tamarillo). I’m sad that we don’t have these in SA.


• I recently noticed that most bottles of hard liquor (aguardiente, whisky, vodka being the most common) all have a plastic appendage on the top which looks like those you see in bars (not the long thin ones, but the other ones that allow the booze to come out more slowly), even the small bottles. I also noticed that when a table orders a bottle of hard tack, it is customary to pull the label off after you’re done and there is even a little flap on the label to make it easier to do this. Apparently this is all to stop people from re-using bottles and filling it with ‘fake’ booze which is/was apparently big business over here. Weird.


• I went to a Salsa Bar the other night and in between my floundering through the steps I noticed a big sign which banned Salsa Romantico at that particular establishment. Further enquiries enlightened me to the fact that Salsa Romantico is like a ‘cheaper’ off-shoot of the more traditional form of the dance and it is severely frowned upon by the connoisseurs of proper Salsa. I guess you could look at it as the same bastardising of traditional dancing that Sokkie is in SA. God I hate sokkie so! I can’t imagine Salsa Romantico being that bad. Anyway, I found it kind of weird that a certain way of dancing was not even allowed at this bar! Made me stumble even more and I turned bright red as I secretly resolved to practice in the shower everyday until I get the blasted two step right. What I would give for a good ol’ Zulu high kick or two!

Alright, well that’s it for now. I hope that things are looking up for those of you in SA, although the latest racial cricket row, T-bone’s State of the Nation address and some frightening statements from the ministers would suggest otherwise. The damn currency is in free-fall and I’m taking on water at a rapid rate with the Rand having lost more than 20% to the Colombian Peso since I’ve arrived! Fark!

Talking with Mayra

I reckon that some people travel to be in a place where its acceptable to be a stranger.

I also get the feeling that some really epic things are on the verge of happening and I’d like to be a part of it, although it makes me a little nervous. I can tell cus my dreams depict the various scenario’s as really extreme and always leave me with a very distinct choice between safety or the true test of my convictions.

Erm...is it possible that this is what my dreams are about?

La Marcha Contra Las Farc

This is not really an update as I have something planned for that in the next week or two. I’m writing because I feel like I was part of something truly great today. Yup, today people took to the streets in their millions, not only here in Colombia but across the world, to protest against the kidnappings, terrorism and violence against innocent people.

People take to the streets in Bogota!

Before the march, which took place in every part of every city in this country, I was sceptical about how many people would take part and what impact this could possibly have. I’d heard talk of protest marches in South Africa before, where barely 500 people were able to march against crime country wide. I was always left with a feeling of powerlessness and disappointment at the inevitable muteness of it all. Today was different and truly the most emphatic statement from people that I have ever witnessed.

A demonstration of the Farc's kidnappings as people look on

This was all started on Facebook by a 33-year-old engineer from Barranquilla on Colombia’s Caribbean coast. He created a group and people rallied, signed up and added their voices in support of stopping the situation here in Colombia. There were protests in over100 cities world wide today!


Read about it at:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7225824.stm


This made me wonder why things are so different at home, that people cannot stand together against something like crime, which on many dayskills more people in SA than in Iraq! What or who took our voice away? What made us stop believing and what could possibly ignite that fire again? Elsewhere the situation is the same and it has quite often appeared to me like the entire world is asleep in an impenetrable cocoon of day-to-day, self-absorbed paralysis.

Millions of people gather in Plaza Bolivar, Bogota

However, being a part of this now gives me hope that people, like us, still have a voice and that we can be heard. There is a ways to travel yet for this country, but the people (not just from this country) have decided that they will do what they can to end this war and that they won’t accept the current situation anymore. What a wonderful example of our common humanity! Trust me, these people are not the same and they certainly don’t share the majority of their beliefs, but they were able to put all those differences aside for this worthy and common cause.

Check out my photies and videos.

http://picasaweb.google.com/hilton.johnson/LaMarchaContraLasFARC?authkey=A0cpSJQB7c8

The scale of this thing is unbelievable and I can’t believe I was here!

All that you CAN leave behind

So I decided on another update seeing as I have one or two stories to tell. Stories and revelations. As the sun shines brightly here in Bogota for the first time since my arrival, I’m reading of floods back home in SA and Mozambique. And what of the power cuts that send the rand tumbling, cripple the economy and enrage all of you unlucky enough to be suffering through it? further a field, the world now seems to be in the grips of what looks like a recession, with the US stock markets tumbling to their worst levels since 9/11. Amy Winehouse and dearest Britters won’t be around for too much longer and Brokeback Heath is gone. RIP.

It all gets me thinking of how removed I am from all of this, especially the stuff going on in SA. It happens slowly I guess, but one day you wake up and realise that many of the things you were evidently and unpreventably immersed in, are now only living in your memories. …and if they only exist there, what is it that now fills your life? what indeed!?

I suppose it was obvious for some to see and I was rationally aware of it too, but my day to day life in SA was overflowing with my own frustration at being stuck. Treading water. Even suffocating. I often lacked motivation and frequently felt like escape was the only way of dealing with the otherwise seemingly insurmountable and mundane (for me) innards of my life.

Hilton today....new, improved and more deadly than ever!

The dreams I had were speculation at best and my own description of them sounded hollow and unachievable to me. Who am I kidding here? Do I really think that this ‘movie script’ is within my reach? I often quietly resigned myself to failure, but tried to console myself by thinking that I will at least have given the kid a good last run. I felt like it was only a matter of time before I would have to fold up the dreams and ideals and pack them away forever, only to be reminisced over and never to be delved into again. I berated my own child-like pursuit of what?... I couldn’t even tell that!


I recall dreams in the last couple of years where I’m desperately trying to run, but my legs won’t move and its as if they are asleep. I am willing them to bear me away, with everything that I can muster, but I remain stuck and in pain.


Things have turned out differently though.


I read about Selebi, Zuma, speeding MPs, corruption, politics / sport and I can almost hear the collective gnashing of teeth as everyone stumbles and fumbles onward. And yet I’m not a part of it now. It almost leaves me with a feeling of guilt. almost.


I’m still close enough to feel the gray sadness and I fleetingly grasp the almost imperceptible weight of it all. Its that gnawing subconscious questioning of your circumstances, which you beat down whenever the whining and whimpering becomes too loud. Almost like an annoying and mangy stray dog that you keep shooing away from your front gate, while cursing under your breath at its undeserved ability to tug at your dirty conscience. Can anyone tell that I just read Disgrace by JM Coetzee?


So, here I am, looking back at it all while flinching, blushing, grinning at how obvious it all was and how easy it is to make another choice. This is not an advert for Trainspotting, by the way.
How exactly is it all different then, and what is it that changes? Small things I guess. Here are some personal manifestations of the change that is more generally within reach for all of us. Firstly, and somewhat amusingly, I’ve started cooking meals. I last did this some years back. I made a demon chicken curry with plantain the other night for Sergio, his sister and some of their friends. We savoured the meal with some Bombay Sapphire gin, which I lugged all the way from SA, and tonic with slices of cucumber. Sergio cranked up some Vusi Mahlasela and I breathed deeply. This was damn good! The essence of my home, my place, coursed through my veins, even as I sadly reflected on all the imperfections.


In a way I’m quite domesticated now. You’ll spot me in the supermarket picking out some weird and exotic fruit for the next day’s breakfast, or slowly reading the labels on a Chilean bottle of Chardonnay, which I’ve decided will go well with the evenings meal, or inspecting all the different kinds of honey for one that best goes with my precious mint and green tea. Yup, there I am, shuffling around the isles with my shopping basket and Wayuu pouch, ready to carry home my prizes. Maybe I’ll be sitting in the old part of town with a book, some music and a cup of that awesome Juan Valdez coffee.


(Incidentally, I am fast running out of books. I’ve read four in the last three weeks! I’m
now ceremoniously jogging my way through 100 years of Solitude. Kind of fitting with my being here and all. I shall have to find an English book store soon. This is not easy)


I walk. lots. and I smile when I’m doing it. I used to walk only when I felt like I was at deaths door.

Going for a walk around Bogota...always armed with Wayuu pouch!

But, I can’t possibly explain all the small things that have changed. More important is what the collective points towards. All I can say is that the bigger picture of my life has flipped on its head. Efforts to escape, frustration, self loathing and even my own attempts to destroy have been replaced with calm, excitement, bucket loads of stimulation and feelings of wonderment, motivation and most importantly belief. Belief in that which you can’t necessarily see, and all that you can leave behind.


My life is by no means a lovely garden filled with yellow tulips and ripe bananas, not at all, but I am free of a number of things that I seriously doubted would ever leave me. Look, shady politicians, for instance, are everywhere. That’s not what I’m driving at here. Its more like a realization that we are all far from nailed to the things that we painfully accept as permanent and diseased parts of our lives. Too strong? Maybe, but it takes a little strength sometimes.
Just this week I struggled with local universities, UNISA, FNB and even my previous employer who, it appears, over paid me to the tune of 60 grand in December. Ouch. It hurt to pay that back and I wished that the payroll department’s incompetence would just have extended a little further than merely making the mistake in the first place.


Everyday I blunder through basic interactions with my broken Spanish. I strain to fill all the gaps in my understanding. I push myself to attempt and conquer things that others hardly give a second thought to. Catching a bus. Asking for help. Getting information. But, through it all there is something that’s now awake, breathing, ticking. I intend to keep nurturing it, feeding it, until it fills me and I know I can forever take comfort in its voice, now my own. I know that all sounds fairly dramatic but I’m making a fist of trying to explain something which takes a lot of digging to unearth.


Next week I will leave for Medellin, where numerous challenges also lie waiting for me. I’m excited, hoping for that perspiration of the soul that comes after its had a good work out.
Many people create markers and physical indicators to measure their own success, whether it be socially, professionally / financially or even in their relationships. How strange then that I now posses very little in the way of tangible trappings or concrete confirmation to satisfy these self-imposed and publicly endorsed appraisals, and yet, I’m more filled with contentment than at any other time in my life. I have no job yet, no comforting circle of friends, no significant other to call when all else fails. No one is telling me how much potential I have. There is no back slapping or mollycoddling here. Instead and unconventionally, I have confidence, motivation and most importantly, inspiration. That is all. Is it enough? Sure feels like it, but I’ll keep you posted for sure.


Right, so that’s it for my philosophical ranting. Tune in for more next time I send a mail!I don’t have that much to share in the way of oddities this time around. Maybe it is because I am now also becoming odd. More odd. What I do have to share is just one mildly amusing story:Sergio meets me in La Candelaria (old part of town in Bogota) last week Friday afternoon. I’m with his sister and some university friends, playing tourist and gaping at the old Spanish style buildings with all their colours. The cobbled streets add to the scenery and it very much resembles Granada or Seville in Spain. Sergio has other, more pressing things on his mind. He’s not had a joint for weeks and its starting to tell. The man is edgy and clearly frustrated at not knowing how to resolve this matter in a city which is fairly new to him too. Personally, I think there is another factor that also adds to the edginess, but the males among you can guess at that one.

Maria Amelia (Sergio's sister, on the right) and university mates

Today, though, Sergio has a plan. One of his shady friends has kindly informed him that there is a shop, right here in La Candelaria, that sells what he is looking for: clean green sweet smelling salvation! I asked him if this was a bit like the Rasta House in Yeoville, Jozi and by all accounts it apparently closely resembles this kind of setup. That means that you walk into this place, ask for the sort and amount you are looking for (ward to), pay and enjoy. Sort of like a take away...for dagga. Did I mention that Sergio was also the one to find the Rasta House in Yeoville? This man has street cred dammit!!So, in the interests of observing new local customs, I decided to accompany my trusty friend on his quest. First though, we had to have a beer… just to take the edge off the week that was. You can’t undertake a mission like this when you’re sober in any event. It requires the cool confidence that comes with imbibing alcohol.


Step one completed, we made our way through the maze of small streets, while Sergio recounted the directions given to him. So, we get to this quiet little road with children playing on the streets, some small cafe’s and bars and a guitar shop. I’m not seeing the neon sign that says ‘Weed sold HERE!’ and Sergio also seems to be quite confused about where to go. He decides to make another phone call to get some clarity on the situation, while I wander up the road inspecting the little shops. In front of me is what appears to be just the front room of an apartment. Its almost as if the whole front wall has been removed to reveal a severely obese old lady, who looks like she has had multiple strokes, sitting in a large armchair, staring impassively out at the street. Each eye is looking in its own direction (impassively of course) and I am somewhat taken aback with the thoughts of Buddha, bull-frogs and chameleons rushing through my head. She has both hands tucked into here apron and on her lap, which adds to the poor man’s Buddhist likeness. The room is separated from the street by a small gate spanning what used to be the front wall I guess. The room is dark. At the one end of the front wall opening there is a cage with 6,7 maybe 8 canaries jumping around inside. They’re all different colours (painted?) and at various stages of terminal illness / suicide. Some of them hardly have feathers left. They are making quite the racket. I’m wondering if the old lady passes the time by watching them fall off their perches one by one when she is not watching the shadows moving across the street outside.

Look like your average neighborhood?.....Marijuana is sold here!

So, I’m watching this with some amusement when Sergio crossed the street, walks past me, neatly opens the gate and enters the room with Buddha frog woman! Surely this must be a mistake!? This sorry spectacle is a weed selling operation?


He approaches the old lady who blinks at him with what I’m assuming is her good eye. Hand in front of his mouth, he murmurs what must be Spanish for ‘Have you got the stuff?’. The sickly canaries are screeching like demented banshees by now. The drama of it all!


I’m half crouching behind him waiting to engage fight or flight mode if some burly ogre man should appear with a machete or worse! This is just too weird!


Well, she merely removes one of her hands from the apron and in it she is clutching two neatly tied plastic pouches crammed full of marijuana! I’m completely stunned at this stage and can’t believe what I’m seeing! Sergio hands over a 20 000 peso note and the old ladies other hand appears with change.


We walk out of the room with not so much as a backward glance, being careful to close the little gate behind us. Kids on the street are looking at us with a knowing glint in their eyes. I’m wondering where the camera’s are hidden because this can’t be real. There is something quite wrong about taking weed from an elderly lady I reckon...like taking candy from a kid?! I don’t know, but the chuckling does not stop for a number of blocks.Needless to say the stuff is horrible and reduces one to a massively gluttonous, retarded and eventually comatose waste of life. I woke up on Saturday, certain that I had a hernia from over eating and vowing to never touch this devil’s lettuce again!

A look of innocence as Sergio and I escape the scene of the crime!

It was a damn funny experience though!

Well that’s it for now. I must run and soak in the warm afterglow of Polly’s scintillating performance against the Windies. Thank goodness for Cricinfo.com!

Back in Colombia and bye-bye Costa Rica

Costa Rica was fun but seemed like another world compared to Colombia. For me the main differences were:

• Costa Rica is very touristy (menu’s in English quoting dollars and soo much hotel development everywhere?!)
  
• Almost everyone here spoke English (as a result my Spanish went backwards)
  There were far fewer police and less military presence than in Colombia
  
• Too many gringos for my liking! Think spring break and frat parties! Obviously this was not the case in all places, but certainly close to the airports
  
• Lots of surfing and way more waves than I saw in Colombia (gimme time!)

As far as similarities go you would have to say that both places are stunningly beautiful and packed full of tropical wonders. Travelling with Aly meant that there obviously had to be strange fruit and food sampled from as many street vendors as possible...just to try! Well I am still suffering from a tummy some five days after leaving Costa Rica! It feels as if some small and angry jungle animal with nasty claws is living inside me. How did it get in there?

Anyway, onto some cleaner and more relevant topics. So the trip started on the Pacific Coast at a pleasant little beach town called Playa Samara. A nice spot and pretty quiet. We were able to do some surfing and basically relaxed for the first couple of days. Aly and I hung out with her parents (Hope and Barry) and the Hotel where we all stayed was a lovely digs. I missed the family on Christmas at the customary beach house piss up, and it seems that it was more of the same as dad apparently went shirtless at one point in the drunkenness. Ah, yes, the Johnson’s know how it should be done. Charlotte had also just returned from Paris and I was sad not to have had the chance to see her before I left.

The beach at Playa Samara and my first view of the Pacific!

A little taste of home in Costa Rica!

The beach in front of the Hotel where we stayed

So, on the 27th we moved to the volcanic and rain forested central part of Costa Rica. We stayed at a place called Monteverde which is close to the town of Santa Elana. On the way there I was co-pilot and Aly was driving with Hope and Barry in the back. Now to say that Hope is a nervous passenger would be somewhat of an understatement. We had heard that the road to Monteverde could get bumpy at stages and hence the hired car was a 4 by 4...a very small Daihatsu 4 by 4. Once we had left the national road the conditions seemed to deteriorate rapidly with us somehow ending up on what can only be described as a rough mountain track / path at best. Suddenly there were no other vehicles to be spotted either and things got mighty quiet. Still Barry and I seemed to think that this must be the right way. We are men after all and renowned for our ability to interpret maps! I must confess to being really impressed with Aly’s driving and this little Daihatsu’s ability to get over this mountain path. It was literally like rock climbing with a car at stages as we all (except and because of the periodically gasping and squealing Hope) tried to remain calm and held onto the belief that we were going the right way. We passed some farmers who seemed to look at us quizzically and motioned for us to continue onwards and merely said ‘4 by 4, si?!’, ‘Monteverde, si!’ , ‘ Veinte minutos, si!’ when I tried to get some more info out of them. sick bastards! 20 minutes my @ss!

Aly looking quite calm as we take a break on the way to Monteverde

Half way up at one of the steeper and scarier points I spotted what looked like a moerse Puff-adder snake (more than a meter long) slowly slithering off the road. As luck would have it the only other person who saw it was Hope and as I mentioned it casually, Aly immediately stopped the car on this major incline. Big mistake! Well this was almost too much for Hope as pandemonium seemed to break out in the car with the fear of the snake and the incline combined reducing her to a white-knuckled, seat grabbing, incoherent, screaming wreck. We didn’t stop for long.

This was the view from the top of the mountain track

About 1.5 hours later we seemed to emerge onto a main dirt road and the first signs of civilizations started to reappear. Not a moment too soon I reckon. Turned out later that we had taken a ‘short cut’ and that it was really only meant for 4 wheelers! no kidding! I swear if I ever find those damn farmers!

Some hummingbirds at a feeder where we stopped for coffee. Amazing little things

So Monteverde reminded me a little of Pilgrim’s Rest in Mpumalanga except with more hotels. It was generally a most charming little place but seemed to have developed just a tad too far with some major hotels looking out of place on the hills around town. Adverts for the activities were pasted all over town and a stay there obviously meant carefully planning each half and full day activity for the duration of the trip. Some of the activities included canopy / zip-line tours, walks in the cloud forest, night walks, ATV 4-wheeler rides (annoying!), horse-riding, coffee tours, butterfly tours, orchid tours, trips to the snake and frog park, suspension bridge walks...and all at a moments notice it seemed. Gringo’s take their holidays seriously! Well we only ended up staying two days in the end as it was super rainy and windy and hanging out at the hotel really wasn’t that fun. Aly and I did however get a chance to go on the zip-lines and that was really amazing. Some of them were over 750 meters long and more than 400 meters high! We seemed to cross entire valleys and at speed! very cool.

Aly preparing for the next zip line

We decided to head back to the beach and our next destination a day earlier and so set off for a spot that was further North but still on the Pacific, called Playa Del Coco. The name should have been a warning. Coco beach?! Well I’m not going to say too much about this place except that it was a horrible nest of Gringo’s and rich Costa Ricans all gathered into one small space that looked like rich people’s vomit pasted onto the hillsides next to the coast. Concrete, building sites, tourist and estate agent offices, casino’s, ATV’s, crowded beaches and sun burnt drunkards. yuck. We actually found a fairly quiet nice place to stay in a complex close to the sea on the mildly calmer next beach called Playa Hermosa (Pretty Beach?!).

Taking a drive in Playa Hermosa

So one of the funny / memorable / dangerous moments happened there on new years eve. We booked to have dinner at a nice Spanish Tapas restaurant called Ginger. A couple of cocktails and a wonderful meal later we decided to take our mellowed out selves to the beach for the countdown and festivities.

New years dinner with Hope and Barry

Barry and Hope came with and apparently the Four Seasons Hotel was going to put on a major fireworks display from across the bay. As we got onto the beach the party was raging at a number of beach bars with fireworks already going off periodically. We sat amidst the crowd and waited for the countdown. As we sat down some fireworks went off quite close to us and I remember glancing over at Barry and Hope nervously as we tried to focus elsewhere. At the stroke of midnight and with the crescendo of cheering just starting I looked behind us just in time to see a firework rocket land right next to us. A massive bang and explosion, white light and my ears were ringing as I tried to register what was going on. Amazingly nothing went into my eyes, but I was more worried about Hope and Barry as it was far closer to them. Hope and Aly were running away from the scene with Hope furiously rubbing at her head as if something was burning. It appeared to be nothing too serious though and Aly seemed fine. It took me a while however, to spot Barry. He was some 50 meters away by this time and running at some pace towards to the water while grabbing at his back. Have any of you seen that scene in in Taladega Nights with Will Ferrell where he is in a car accident and then believes he is on fire? It was sort of like that with Barry also convinced that he was on fire and leaving the rest of us for dead in a desperate attempt to get to the water to douse the flames. Man did he move fast! I couldn’t help laughing but that spelt the end of our new years and we got off the beach pretty quickly, cursing the crazy Tico’s and thankful that none of us got really injured. Hope did have a small patch of her hair burnt off and blister on her scalp where the hair used to be. Fireworks...not cool!

Moments before we are almost blown up and burnt alive!

So Hope and Barry left for the States from there on the 2nd and Aly and I had to then decide where we wanted to go. I searched the Lonely Planet and found a spot diagonally on the other side of the country which sounded really nice. The guide book talked of jungle, long beaches, the biggest waves in Costa Rica and Caribbean vibes. I was sold. Aly and I then decided to rent another car and set off on this journey which took the better part of 9 hours to complete in the end. The roads were also packed with people going back to San Jose after the new years parties / explosions. Soon after going through San Jose (about half way and we got totally lost in the city) we hit rain and one of the national parks known for its rain forests. It seemed to carry on for hours as we descended from the highlands closer to the more tropical low-lying areas. Then suddenly the rain was gone and we were in the province of Limon! It was stunningly beautiful and everything I would have imagined Costa Rica to be with jungle, forest and rivers creating some breathtaking scenery.

The road to Puerto Viejo. Stunning.

Puerto Viejo at sunset

We got to the little town of Puerto Viejo at dusk that evening and stayed in a charming guest house run by some old hippy geezer who looked well stoned when we pulled in there. I was so happy to see black people again, I can’t even explain. The charming caaaraabeeeyan accent could be heard even through the Spanish. yay!

The next couple of days were spent doing some relaxing and fun things like riding bikes along the coast, going for massages, eating sushi (I hadn’t seen a sushi place since I left SA!), drinking fruit smoothies made from every imaginable and as yet undiscovered fruit, going for massages and surfing. I also got to see this legendary reef break monster wave called the Salsa Brava. Its not for beginners as you could get smashed on the shallow reef, but certainly forms part of a larger surfers paradise in the area. I loved this place and it seemed like a really international spot too with over 40 languages apparently spoken by the residents of the little town. What made it different to the previous place we had been was that there seemed to be a real focus on protecting the natural surroundings and customs of the local people. Very balanced and healthy looking.

Taking a bike ride in Puerto Viejo

Aly enjoying the scenery

The massage temple in the forest at Puerto Viejo

Gringos get a lesson in Surfing (Puerto Viejo)

I'm showing everyone how its really done here. Grace, balance, poetry...

On the 6th we had to leave super early as Aly had to be in the north of the country at noon to catch her flight. I was dropped off in San Jose as I flew from there the next day and it was an especially sad goodbye. We had a great holiday and a lovely peak at this friendly country.
I was looking forward to getting stuck into life here in Colombia. After the Customary hiccup with Colombian immigration officials (I was the last to be let through as the bastards casually debated I don’t know what. they wouldn’t speak English!) I was back at Sergio’s pad and planning my next couple of weeks.

So far it seems like I’ll be doing an intensive Spanish course at one of the universities either here in Bogota or in Medellin. I’m kind of leaning towards Medellin cus its so damn cold here in Bogota and I don’t deal with the cold!

I’ve also chatted to one or two connections that Sergio has within the National Commission for Reparation and Reconciliation and it appears like there might be some opportunities for me to work with some of the ex-combatants, victims, displaced people and poorer communities in a change management capacity in the coming months. I’m excited about that and will be attending a luncheon to meet some of the people next week some time.

So, that is where it’s at right now. I’ll end with customary note of oddities and strange things I have noticed in the last couple of weeks:

• Two days ago I ate Capivara (or Chiguiro as its called here). For those of you who don’t know, its like a monster rat / guinea pig and is the largest rodent on earth. Found in Latin America, it is apparently somewhat of a delicacy. I found it quite pleasant in fact. …somewhere in between pork and chicken, these fillets were. Yum! Although I couldn’t tell if it was actually yellow or if that was just the marinade?
  
• Bikers with bibs - All people on a motorcycle must wear a bib (including passengers) with the license plate number of the bike on the back and front. I asked Sergio about this and he said that it was because of the number of assassinations performed by people on bikes. This way, if someone is not wearing a bib that can instantly identify them to the thousands of cops around the city, they are immediately pulled over and fined heavily. Extreme!
  
• Cold Showers - When I was reading the lonely planet for South America they mentioned that one had to become used to cold water more often than not. I dismissed this as something that would only occur in seedy backpackers. I was wrong! It seems like the entire Latin America really does not place a high priority on hot water. WTF?! I’m freezing my balls off! I need hot water! At best they have these contraptions fastened to the shower head which heats the water when it comes through. Problem is that anything more powerful than a trickle and you have a cold shower. The trickle shower is demeaning and no-one should have to suffer through this. Sergio, exceptionally, seems to have a geezer but he never uses it! Its turned off all the time! Well, I think he noticed the panicky look in my eyes after he showed me how the trickle system works seeing as he has it switched on. Its like a special occasion treat?! And its the same everywhere!
  
• North Vs. South - Yesterday I went to the northern part of the city for the first time. It was like stepping into another world. Sergio stays in an area called Champinero and its kind of how Sunnyside in Pta was 15 years ago with an artsy Melville edge to it. Lots of flats, bars, music stores and single people. There are certainly some edgier looking people on the street. Well the north is kind of like Hydepark and Sandton all rolled into one with everyone on the street. Massive malls, Snazzy restaurants, designer stores, rich kids oozing labels and cops with dogs checking all the cars that park in the malls for bombs. every single one! money money money! The difference was stark!
  
• The South American Zuma - So I’ve got the scoop on Hugo Chavez (president of Venezuela). This man is a raging lunatic and seems to represent where Zuma could be in about ten years time. He has this plan to unite all of South America especially the countries that Simon Bolivar originally liberated and which were one country, namely: Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Panama and Bolivia I think. Plans to assume control of Colombia (the only US ally in South America. Mexico is Central) have him in bed with the guerillas (Las FARC) and that is why he is involved in getting them to release hostages as they have just done. They are reputed to be operating on the Venezuelan side of the border regularly with him even funding some of their operations in Colombia. This guy reckons his hero is Simon Bolivar and wants to re-unite the Bolivaran countries first and foremost. At a meeting some years ago he even asked a seat be kept open next to him for the spirit of Simon Bolivar! He also wants to bring conflict to a head with the United States by pursuing control of Colombia. Chavez reckons that his oil money and the guerillas are more than enough to take the Gringos! He has just had a major public spat with Uribe (the right wing president of Colombia). His own parliamentarians are starting to seriously question his sanity. Dangerous man! His involvement with the guerillas could spill this country into a more all-encompassing war in years to come.

Travelling in the North of Colombia and Arriving in Costa Rica

I’ve just arrived in Costa Rica and I’m staying in a small little beach resort town called Samara. Its quite nice to kick back and enjoy some superficial comforts. The last week was full of adventure and exposure to things that I had previously only heard about, at most.

Sergio, Mayra and I set off around the middle of December on an incredible journey into the northern desert of Colombia and to a province called La Guajira. Sergio, being the anthropologist sort, took us on a really unique trip which mostly revolved around a certain indigenous group of people from Colombia called the Wayuu.

Some of the Wayuu youngsters we met in Uribia - La Guajira

We learnt a lot about their customs, challenges facing them on a daily basis and even got to stay with a family for a night on their Rancheria. This is a small type of traditional home built out of mud and wood. They cooked for us and regaled us with stories about a life that was truly foreign to me. The children loved the fact that I’m from Africa and absolute pandemonium broke out when they heard I was wearing a bracelet made from elephant hair! Obviously I added some colourful details to the story of how I got this elephant hair. I just grabbed the pachyderm by the tail of course! Well they loved that and screeched with laughter!

Wayuu mom cooking dinner for us. She is not doubt the matriarch in this home

The hammocks we slept in on our first night at the Rancheria

The Wayuu family that took us in and taught us a little about their lives

Some of the children curiously viewing the strangers on the Rancheria

We slept in Hammocks for a couple of days which definitely takes a little getting used to. Sleeping and showers, never mind hot ones, were not high on the priority list during these couple of days. Lack of sleep was especially tough for me to deal with at times. One thing I’ve learnt about this country is that there is NEVER silence. This is tough for someone who sleeps as lightly as I do, and who could blame me when my home is in Johannesburg and more particularly the Wild Westdene!? At least the noises here were mostly harmless. In the cities its the blaring music 24 hours a day and in the rural areas it was farting (seriously this old Wayuu fellow could be heard from some distance at night and I thought I was bad! I was most grateful that we were sleeping outside), roosters, mosquitoes, goats bleating and more music. At times I just could not believe how noisy it is! I was occasionally frustrated at not being able to communicate, but its all spurring me on to learn more quickly.

Spending time with Sergio and Mayra was always a laugh a minute and I can scarcely imagine two better companions for a trip like this. Its hard to believe that its over already. Sometimes it really gave the trip more of an accidental air than anything that might have been borne out of a plan of sorts. I’d honestly prefer to not know the truth.

There is always time for a roadside empanada with Mayra and Sergio

After our night on the Rancheria we moved to the desolate little beach town of Cabo De La Vela. Here there was still no electricity and it seemed to me like a place completely removed from everything. This was more relaxing for sure with hammocks lining the pristine beach that seemed more like the shores of a really big lake. It was so quiet and looking back from the beach you could see the desert stretching away for what seemed like forever.

Hammocks on the beach at Cabo De La Veda

A view of La Cabo and the desert in the background

Unfortunately our stay was briefly interrupted by Mayra and I getting sick. Mayra had a weird bite of sorts and it started getting a little nasty while we were there. The health care in Colombia seems to be really good though and the local Wayuu clinic sorted it out in no time. That does not mean that the procedure to clean this nearly septic wound was without incident. Mayra came mighty close to screaming (something I have rarely seen her do in the sober light of day) as the otherwise charming doctor literally stuck her finger in the wound to clean it! Weirdly, one can just pick up antibiotics from any pharmacy without a prescription here. Generally the pharmacists really seem to know their stuff too and its all very cheap. I personally had a brief case of the squirts which put me under for a while but I came through unscathed, if a little lighter, within a day or two.

Some friendly Wayuu locals at the Clinic in Cabo De La Veda

Enjoying a laugh with some other travellers on the beach

After our 3 day stay in the Cabo, we were picked up by our sprightly guide Victor and he dropped us back in Uribia, effectively the capital of the Wayuu, where we were to stay the night.
On our way back to Uribia we stopped at the nearby salt pans which also line the coast. I had never been to salt pans and it was quite strange to see these massive mounds of chrystals and the severely rusted trucks which were driving tons of the stuff away. I wondered how it was cleaned enough to finally end up on the dinner table. This trip coincided with a strange cloudburst in the middle of the desert. This added a strange air to the place and the coast line was most striking.

A view of the Salt pans close to Uribia

The heaving coastline at the salt pans

The next morning we were set to move on by bus to Santa Marta, further Wast on the coast, which is a completely different vibe from the desert and the quiet we had experienced up to then. Its back in the tropics, touristy, loud and hot!

The bus trip was a little hairy for sure. We waited roadside early the next morning at some intersection close to the border of Venezuela, for a bus that we were told would come by in a couple of minutes. This little stop was complete with stands cooking goats meat and Arepas (kind of like a braai bread that they fill it here with an egg or cheese). It was also a spot where goats and pigs were traded so it was kind of traumatic to see these tied up and squealing animals getting thrown on and off of various trucks passing by.

One and a half hours later (!) we finally got onto a bus after Sergio fairly threw himself at the conductor and forced our way on after negotiating an ‘ok’ price. Exhaustion added another dimension to our desperation and I think we seemed somewhat demented by then. Incidentally, everything here is negotiable it seems...and there is always a ‘Colombian’ price too. The trip was frightening as the bus clearly had no shocks left on the one rear wheel. This meant that any bumps and a certain speeds would send the bus into a speed wobble which would require the driver to brake super quickly to avoid us falling over or going into a spin. This made overtaking at speed quite interesting and eventually the other passengers got so scared / irate that they convinced the driver to drive more slowly. Mayra was sure that sleeping through all of this was the answer but I was not able to buy into that logic...in time though I’m sure.

As I’ve mentioned before, the military and security presence everywhere is something to behold. It will still take some time to get used to I think. We went through numerous road-blocks and were eventually pulled over by a large army contingent. The men on the bus had to get off and we were searched along with all our belongings. Like I said in the previous post carrying identification at all times is mandatory. They were apparently looking for ‘Contrabandes’ (illegally imported goods from Venezuela) and actually did find some cases of whisky on our bus. Some negotiations / bribes later and we were on our way again. 6 hours later the bus trip was thankfully over and we were trying to find our way around a new city.

Santa Marta has a strange allure to it and seemed completely unapologetic about its hedonistic veneer. We also got a nice clean hotel room (with a shower! although it was still cold) and spent the first half a day just sleeping and washing / scrubbing. We surfaced around midnight to check out the town and were not disappointed. Lots of partying with the damned ‘Felize Navidad’ (Merry Christmas) being screamed out at every opportunity! Christmas and religion are a serious business over here as I am realising more everyday. Decorations and portrayals of the nativity scene are everywhere including all hotels and shops. Neon lights adorn buildings, streets and trees all over and it all just seemed to be another excuse to get hammered. I think it might be a reaction to the war and violent history, but these people really do drink seriously! Its quite normal to see fellows passed out at virtually all hours in many of the bars and public drinking places. Its a strange paradoxical situation where Colombians are the most friendly people I have ever come across, hands down and then there is constantly also a more sinister under-current of danger that seems to be hard to put your finger on. Almost without fail people have assisted me to the nth degree wherever I’ve been and it is the kind of help that is sincere and does not seem to have any ulterior motives behind it. Santa Marta was generally a lot of fun and could’ve been a spot on the Mediterranean during summer for all the merriment and light-heartedness.

Santa Marta and the beach

Another laugh with Sergio and Mayra at the local Juan Valdez

So, after another 2 nights and catching up on some shopping, beach time and sightseeing, we flew back to Bogota.

Bogota was 11 degrees when we landed at El Dorado airport. This city is not warm and the altitude obviously plays a big part. It rarely gets about 20 degrees! I then packed, said my goodbyes to Sergio and Mayra and moved on for Costa Rica the next day. Leaving the airport was a big deal again and I was ‘randomly’ searched three times. All my belongings were rummaged through and I mean everything...even the straps of my backpack! I just smiled but by the third time I was a little frayed for sure. The immigration officials also disappeared with my passport for about 15 minutes while they decided whether I could leave (????) with the tear on my passport photo.

Arriving in Costa Rica could not have been more different. Its more like a ‘welcome to paradise!’ setup and clearly this country knows that tourism is its biggest source of income. I’m now on the beach in a small town called Samara and that is where I’ll stay for the next couple of days before moving off to the volcanoes and rain forests of this beautiful country. They also speak English over here!

Below are a couple more oddities I’ve taken note of in the last week or so:

• As mentioned before there are coffee vendors everywhere! It is really striking and I can almost not imagine Johannesburg’s street vendors including these guys with their rickety carts. These fellows walk around with thermos flasks on their carts and serve coffee anywhere and at anytime and it seems to be the most popular thing sold on the street too… more popular than beer! Its really hard to describe how nice the coffee is here. Its full of flavour and does not make you edgy at all. I think its probably really mild. Tea cannot be found for love or money!
  
• Yesterday I tried Tamales for the first time. Its basically Mealie meal with various meats (chicken, pork, beef) wrapped in banana leaves and boiled. Really nice, full of flavour and one of the best known dishes of Latin America.
  
• Plantains are in everything and you get many varieties from the really salty to the super sweet. A really nice snack is this fried plantain filled with something in between dried guava and guava jam. Really tasty! Sometimes they also put cheese in the fried plantains.
  I constantly have to give my name at different places and seeing as the ‘H’ is quiet in Spanish, this is really tricky. I’ve resorted to saying something like Geeeelttttoooon Juansoon but invariably the painful ‘Paris Hilton’ comparison seems to be the most effective.
  
• It was interesting noting how the Wayuu have their own language called wayuunaiki which the Spanish speakers could also not understand a word of. I was glad that someone else was also frustrated at not being understood too.
  
• Everything is a bloody negotiation in Spanish...even asking for a cup of coffee! I’ve constantly been chuckling to myself at the incessant ‘no...si? no...si?’. Can’t you just bloody say what you want?!?!
  
• Alcohol and lots of it can be bought anywhere...seriously. Vendors sell beers and hard liquor. The shops over here seem to sell everything from medicine to booze all at the same time.
  
• The plastic wrapping of bags at the airport over here is predominantly to stop people putting cocaine in your bag without you noticing it.
  
• In Bogota especially there is a new kind of poor people that I have never seen before...internally displaced by the war. They outnumber the beggars and whole families with all their belongings are seen on the streets all the time. Sergio pointed them out to me before and I must say that its harder to see than your average beggar on the street corner. They, along with the indigenous people, really evoke a strong emotive response in me and I see plenty of opportunities for work with these people once my Spanish gets a little better.